Harmonious Discord
by an-alternate-world
Summary: Oliver's life had always been neat and tidy, ordered and structured. And then he'd met Connor.


**Title:** Harmonious Discord  
 **Author:** an-alternate-world  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Characters/Pairing:** Oliver Hampton/Connor Walsh  
 **Word Count:** 2,286  
 **Summary:** Oliver's life had always been neat and tidy, ordered and structured. And then he'd met Connor.  
 **Warnings/Spoilers:** References to events throughout Season 1 and 2x01.  
 **Disclaimer:** I am in no way associated with _How To Get Away With Murder_ , ABC, Peter Nowalk, Shonda Rhimes, or anything else related to the ABC universe.

* * *

Oliver's life had always been neat and tidy, ordered and structured.

His clothes were precisely arranged in their drawers. His furniture was aligned to make the best use of space in his apartment. His job dealt with layers of code that had to be organised a certain way for a program to operate. He had a routine for going to bed and getting up in the morning. He had a timetable of how long it would take him to shower, eat, ride the train to work, and the time he could spare on a workout each day. He had a schedule of meals he would eat on particular days of the week to keep his diet balanced.

Some people might have called Oliver perfectionistic, others might have said he had OCD. He denied both accusations: he simply liked everything being in its place and knowing what to expect.

And then he'd met Connor.

Like a tornado, Connor had upended the world around Oliver. A life that had previously been one person then turned into working in tandem with another, a negotiation of two souls that were total opposites. There was no doubt he found navigating the complexities of Connor confusing. Connor was charming and suave, a mischievous glint in his eyes with a half-smile that ensnared Oliver. Connor was wild and free, a recklessness in his touch and his actions that increased Oliver's arousal because he was unpredictable. Connor was loose with his morals and fast with his tongue, stealing his way into Oliver's heart before he realised how problematic that could be.

Until it had all come crashing down – when he'd realised that what Connor meant to him wasn't what he meant to Connor. Connor was his challenge, his salvation, his antithesis, his friend, his _lover_.

Yet Oliver was just some IT guy, someone Connor could use to win cases through illegal means and repay with (ridiculously good) sex. It was devastating to realise that when Connor needed information from someone else, he had sex with them and felt little remorse for his actions. Learning how Connor used people was heartbreaking but also a satisfying reassurance, reminding Oliver that he sought order and structure in his life because it was reliable and trustworthy. It made sense to erase Connor from his life and correct the chaos left behind, to align the furniture and re-fold his clothes, to resume his regular bedtime and wake-up and return to a schedule of meals that was balanced and healthy.

Only he couldn't erase Connor from his mind.

Connor's touch lingered on his waist to coax him closer to the brink of temptation. Connor's gasps lingered in his ears to drive him crazy in the quiet darkness of his empty room. Connor's smell lingered on his clothes, his couch, his sheets. Connor's eyes lingered on his body as Oliver's bare body was surveyed and approved. Connor's mouth lingered in his memory, a crooked smile of interest and mischief that sent his heart aflutter.

Maybe it wasn't such a surprise that he let Connor back into his life so easily. How could he refuse a former lover help when he was huddled on the floor outside his apartment, in the middle of a panic attack and completely delusional? How could he refuse a former lover help when he looked so broken and lost, the confident man he'd always known stripped away to reveal a vulnerable boy he'd never met? How could he refuse a former lover help when the sight of him filled a void that had taken residence in Oliver's life, despite his best attempts at filling it?

Seeing Connor in pieces changed him. It changed _them_. He pushed closer when Connor pulled away, dragging unwilling secrets from Connor's lips until he realised he hadn't really known the other man before at all. Everything with Connor was about appearances, a carefully maintained and manicured façade that Oliver was starting to see through with startling clarity. He'd thought Connor had his life together. He'd thought Connor always knew the right words to say, the right actions to take, the right places to touch. He'd thought Connor was confident and comfortable in who he was and what he wanted.

It turned out Connor's confidence was a smokescreen for the fact he was a fragmented man with no idea how to be whole.

And maybe that's why they fell into a new rhythm, one that worked better than before. Connor found refuge in Oliver's structure. Connor found safety in Oliver's stability. Connor was comfortable in his presence because he was predictable. Connor was willing to seek him out because he could trust Oliver to be found. Oliver wasn't sure about a hell of a lot of things in his life but he knew how to solve problems, how to be logical and rational, how to take a step back and _breathe_. And he began to realise, the more Connor leaned into his side and allowed Oliver's arm around his shoulders, that Connor constantly lived his life on the edge of a breakdown and needed someone to shelter him from it.

Then Oliver was diagnosed with HIV and he forgot how to function for a week.

His insecurities that he wasn't enough for Connor reared their head all over again. Connor was attractive and determined, capable of getting what he wanted even if Oliver now knew the confidence was a mask. Connor was someone who struggled with commitment and used sex as a tool for information. Connor was someone who could have anyone he wanted in Philadelphia so why would he stick around someone with HIV? The only answer Oliver had was that it was because of pity or guilt, that Connor felt he owed Oliver something and stayed because he felt he _had_ to and not because he _wanted_ to. Even though Connor had begun taking PrEP, Oliver believed that if he withheld sex long enough it would cause Connor to leave out of frustration. He didn't want to drag Connor into this rabbit-hole with him – but he couldn't bring himself to try erasing Connor from his life again.

Perhaps that's why he hesitates when he sees Connor moving his stuff into Oliver's apartment. His immediate thought is trivial: he's not sure where he'll put Connor's things – new belongings will disturb the precise arrangements of his own. He's not convinced Connor wants to be around him permanently – Oliver's incurably sick even though there are treatments to reduce the severity of his symptoms and prolong his life. He's not sure it's a commitment Connor knows how to, or wants to, make – Connor's fleeting and sometimes short-sighted, an ends-suits-the-means kind of guy without thinking about the implication those means might have further down the track.

"We're officially a boring, domesticated, cohabitating couple."

He's still staring at the containers of Connor's stuff in his hallway when the words break through the uncertain haze in his mind. Connor's confidence is back. He knows what he wants. He knows Oliver wouldn't deny him and tell him to get out. After weeks without sex as Oliver's grappled with being HIV-positive and terrified that he'll touch Connor and pass it on – even though he knows that's not how the virus works – he realises that, deep down, Connor _cares_ in a way he might not be able to properly admit at the moment.

A smile snags the corner of his lips as he grabs Connor's wrist and drags him closer. There are a few heartbeats before Connor catches up and reacts, but it doesn't take long before he's not sure which limb is his because he's lost in the press of Connor's body against his, of his tongue sliding against Connor's, of an ache in his belly that he hasn't felt since before the diagnosis. He startles at the ringtone that interrupts their kissing, wanting to ignore it until he hears that it's Annalise.

He allows Connor enough space to answer the phone but he soon returns to invading Connor's space, attacking his neck and trying to peel the coat from his shoulders. Connor stammers out an agreement to meet his boss somewhere later but all Oliver really hears is _later_ , which he's grateful for because he's in need of Connor right _now_.

Connor tilts his head once he hangs up the phone and Oliver crushes their mouths together without a second thought. The passion that had been there since the first time they'd met, the desperation carved into each touch is sharp and renewed. His heart hammers in his chest as Connor's phone clatters to the floor, soon followed by the _whoosh_ of his coat. Fingers tug at Oliver's sweater and it lands in a crumpled heap on the floor beside Connor's coat.

Once the front door is shut, it becomes a race to rid each other of clothes on the stumbling walk to the bed while barely disconnecting their lips or letting the other go. Connor's almost like a cat with the way he rubs his body against Oliver's, his back already slippery with a thin sheen of sweat that makes Oliver's fingers glide over his skin. He ends up beneath Connor, feeling faintly feverish as arousal thrums through his veins, as his blood boils with excitement. Connor's hands and lips seem to be _everywhere_ and his spine arches and his hips writhe on their own accord whenever Connor locates a particularly pleasurable spot.

When Connor returns to kissing him, he takes the opportunity to flip them over and gazes at Connor's body beneath him. His skin has a slight tan, the jut of his hips is more pronounced than before, the skin of his chest clear of wayward hairs. For a moment, the frenetic pace slows as he takes in Connor, a fleeting flash of insecurity in the contraction of Connor's muscles and the way his eyes can't quite meet Oliver's face. For a moment, Oliver remembers that he's the one who holds the fractured pieces of Connor's fears together and he feels drunk on the power it gives him.

"You _are_ okay with me moving in, right?" Connor says, his fingers a tentative press against Oliver's biceps as Oliver shifts his weight so he can run a hand through Connor's hair to soothe him. He watches the flutter of Connor's eyes, the way his head tips back to expose the length of his neck, the way his lips part to allow an unsteady exhale, and Oliver revels in knowing that he can keep Connor safe from himself and distract him from his fears for the day.

Instead of answering, he leans in to steal a kiss from Connor's mouth. It's slow but he's also greedy, absorbing Connor's exhales and coaxing his body to life. His heart thumps in his ears as he rolls his hips against Connor's, seeking friction and enjoying the low moan that builds in Connor's throat as he clutches at Oliver's skin.

"Ollie…" Connor whispers between kisses, shifting his legs further apart in an obvious invitation. "Please?"

And despite his anxieties of infecting Connor, despite the way Connor is a whirlwind who has disrupted the structure of his life since they met in a bar all those months ago, Oliver can't deny Connor anything. Perhaps it's because there's a moment when he's pressed within Connor and taking a kiss from his quivering lips that Oliver enjoys the unpredictable chaos Connor brings to his steady life. Perhaps it's because there's a moment when Connor's back is slippery against his chest and they're rocking together that Oliver finds some sort of serenity in the desperation Connor infuses in his touches. Perhaps it's because there's a moment when Connor's curses are mingled with groans of Oliver's name that Oliver knows he's needed and wanted by a man who could have anyone in Philadelphia.

Their bodies are slick and filthy after they've both come. Maybe Oliver should care more about cleaning it up, maybe he should demand Connor do something about it, except Connor cuddles into his side so quickly, so smoothly, after Oliver flops onto his back that he's powerless to do anything but fold the other man into his embrace. He likes it when Connor allows himself to be held, when he's small and at peace with who he is rather than a mess of insecurities that Oliver is still trying to understand. He likes feeling Connor's breath against his neck, his hair damp beneath Oliver's cheek, his muscles still quivering with his orgasm. He likes the soft kiss to his pulsepoint that is Connor's way of expressing his feelings when he's afraid of speaking the words, the way his fingers skim across Oliver's torso in aimless patterns as they bask in each other's presence. He likes that there are moments when he realises Connor could have anyone in Philadelphia but that he _needs_ Olive because he feels safe, because he _trusts_ Oliver, and it gives his routine life a new sense of purpose.

It reassures him that the life he once had, the neat and tidy, ordered and structured life, is one that Connor craves and he, Oliver, can provide that security. More and more, he's coming to realise tat Connor is perfectly imperfect, the pieces of his chaotic personality a direct contradiction to the organised pieces of Oliver's, yet their differences are what brings them closer together, what anchors them and strengthens their bond. Their hearts fit together like a discordant jigsaw puzzle, the broken edges smoothed and the anxieties quietened, and it's calming to lay together, to be together, to have each other.

Being a boring, domesticated, cohabitating couple sounds like the most reckless thing Oliver's ever done.

And he loves it already.

* * *

 _ **~FIN~**_


End file.
